KenJa the NinJa.

Over the Rhine...

He visits at night.

I am a basket case right now. After a hard four days of meetings in which I do no actual production, I had a day an a half to myself to really get down to brass tacks and get something accomplished. I thought I did a pretty bang up job, myself, but I can't seem to get over this hump.

So does this hump ever go away? It seems like I forgot how to operate lately. I am so scared of everything. Let's drill this down. The times that I react the most and have the most anxiety are when some one seems to question my intelligence. Even when they have a right to. I don't get it. I just spaz out when some one tries to correct me. I feel so very justified in my right to be respected I completely lose it. I cannot figure this out. Scott says that the place where we react the strongest is where our idols live. What is this idol I have? It's certainly work related and It's certainly self-directed, so I know it's not me being over passionate about the truth of God. Is it that if you strip away my brain, and my wit away (the brain and the wit, consequently, have been negated quite effectively as of late, I am working with people who are so smart that it would appear I am only here to carry their stuff around, and the language barrier makes my jokes fall on dead ears.) I find that I am just standing here naked and everyone now knows there is really nothing special there. And my whole life is an orchestration to keep people from somehow figuring that out.

What if they find out?

Or worse... what if they already know?

Why don't I know that I am special? Why do I now, at 27 years of age have this all of a sudden identity crisis?

I have often thought of myself as a candy. Not unlike one of those Queen Anne chocolate covered cherries my Grandmother loves. Hard, cold, crunchy exterior and runny, drippy, gooey messy interior. That interior is the super sensitive me. The one that you can hurt very easily if I let you past the shell. The goo feels it can do nothing perfectly enough. The outside can't really do much. It feels it can't make a difference, it can't really be a catalyst for change because what if the exterior forgets its important job of keeping the goo at bay? Maybe I'm more like that little green nuclear/bio-terror weapon in "THE ROCK"...What if it leaked out and exploded on contact with the world? The world doesn't care for my tender interior. It has long shown me that.

Why the hell am I blogging this? Probably because you can't fix a problem and have others help you fix it if you don't put it out there. And I like analogies using the word 'goo'.

I am thinking that the operation I need to have is a re-distribution surgery to even out my density. I need to be more like a pumpkin. Still sweet and tender on the inside, but with a less damageable interior structure. More consistent. And that skin.. it still takes some work to get through but it's not as hard. Not as dark, and just a jigsaw away?

Oh to be a pumpkin! To have all that stringy gross stuff scooped out of you and a placed light inside that shines through and in spite of the vessel it's in. I desire to be a Gourd.

There it is.. that mushiness again. It's not about me.

It's not about me. How do we live with an outward focus, without disrespecting and hating the vessel we occupy? How do we love ourselves and see the way God sees, yet not become vain and obsessive? How do we not hate ourselves for not knowing the answers.

Monty says: "I think you out-think yourself" Probably true...but how do you stop?

Please answer in 1 million words or less. You know.. if you have answers.

Traveling Mercies...or lack thereof.

Hello friends, I'm writing from beautiful Basel, Switzerland.  It's not at all like I remember, not a yucky industrial city, but rather a small charming city on the banks of the Rhine.  I think I may have spelled that wrong. Too tired to check.

 

I left on Friday at 1:20 pm.  The very second I got in the air, the plane I was on to Atlanta was put in a holding pattern which caused me to miss my connecting flight to Zurich.  After waiting in line with a nice young Swiss man who missed his Zurich connection as well, for a few hours.  We both had "stand by" tickets on a flight to Paris leaving that night on Air France.  Had to wait on pins and needles while 499 other passengers boarded the Beluga-whale shaped plane to receive the very last seat.  I was lucky enough to make the flight but my traveling partner did not. Felt like one of those odd moments when you win a beauty pageant and you have to like feel a lot sorry for the runner up.  But you are really not that sorry. I was so glad I got on that plane.  Sorry Niklas. 

 

The flight to Paris was awful, that last seat I got on the plane was broken, the headrest wouldn't say up. French steward dude tried to help, but didn't really care.  Sat next to Erik the Snuggling German, and behind a South African shin banging seat recliner man.  Got to Paris and missed my connection to Zurich.  Not in small part thanks to mister between-terminals-bus-driver man who replaced a seeming competent bus driver and commenced his FIRST DAY ON THE JOB training.  Awesome.  Sorry Mademoiselle, your next flight will not leave until it is the perfect time to make you not want to take a train straight to Basel, but it will be delayed another two hours because we, are incompetent and can't make a flight land or take off on time.

 

Get to Zurich.  Luggage?  Hmm.  Didn't leave Atlanta.  That seems to be Americas fault, but I still blame France.  And Portugal.  Mostly because Portugese sounds nothing like Spanish so I couldn't fight with the lady who tried to butt in line infront of me in the "we lost our luggage line".   Hey lady, no espanol, no service.  And I had an hour train to catch after that.  So after 24 hours travelling I arrived in Basel and the crew met me at the station and took my carry on from me and graciously carried it the rest of the night.  We had some good food (for Europe) and a great night sleep in a pretty nice European hotel.  After two days in the same t-shirt and a move to a hotel that actually had internet... and a garden... and free cokes in said garden... I got my luggage back and then took a hot bath.  MMMMmmmmm.  Much better. 

 

Electical situation is good, only burned up my hair straightener thus far, and that is a sad causualty but I will find another... one that the power grid in Switzerland can handle.

 

Man I work with some smart people.  I tell you what.  I am blown away by the minds I'm with for these two weeks.  Couldn't ask for better road warriors.  The Swiss are strange, Deiter-like, nice, smart beautiful people.  Watches and trains and buses they do very well, air conditioning, not so much...

 

Pics when I get time. 

 

Linz

Blue and Fruit

Out of the blue I have to have a surgery.  I have just recently found out that I have three rather large fibroid tumors in my uterus.  They are about the size of grapefruits or something.  Good news is that this is fairly common and it shouldn't have any long term effect, they are benign but i do require an incision to remove them and I will have a 4-6 week recovery time.   I'm doing fine with this and am not in any discomfort or anything, just weirded out that I have three citrus fruits in my womb.  Mostly scared about missing that much work.  I'll be on short-term disability so finances and vacation time isn't the issue, it's more about being out of the saddle for that long. Ultimately God is driving the bus and I am more than safe in his hands, but still... I have fruit salad, and temporarily, no purpose.  Weird. 

 

You may be surprised that I'm blogging about this, but I'm fairly open with stuff like this and I think it's important to tell women to GET TO THE GIRL DOCTOR.  I hadn't gone in three years and I am regretting my squeamish-ness about this.  This is much more a big deal than my root canal...

 

Anyway this adventure isn't without a blog worthy story:

 

I am getting ready to get my MRI scan done to figure out how these babies are attached, and "the Dude" running the desk takes me back to a small lockerroom.  A. It was a Dude, I guess that isn't uncommon, but when getting your scrubs handed to you it's odd having a dude tell you what things to leave on and what to take off.  B. "The Dude" hands me a giant, blue.. PARACHUTE??? What IS this thing?  I swear it was 4X day at the hospital and these crazy blue paper scrubs were GI-NORMOUS!  If I had dropped my business card in them me and LITERALLY four our five of my closest friends could have been joining me in this free time-share of a pair of pants.  It was nutty.  The sillouette of me in these pants was so much like a ping-pong paddle on it's end I almost snapped a picture of it so I could blog it, but I didn't. (try to hide your disappointment)  C.  I walk back out of the dressing room with my sandals, my scrub top, and my hammer pants and Dude says to me, "You can have a seat back in the waiting room if you like."  I obediently slithered back toward the double doors that I walked through earlier, the other side of which were scads of fully clothed people reading magazines.  Then I stopped.  "You want me to go where?"  I am only still wearing 5% of the clothing that I came in here with and those people out there are not trained medical professionals.  Dude says "Well there a TV in there, but you can sit wherever you want."  Thanks.  I'll give up the TV.  Me and my blue paper tent are just fine here where there is no danger of givin' any octegenarian a free shot.  I was seriously wondering if I was being Punk'd.  Insane.

 

So if you are a praying sort, I could use some prayer for this.  I am also leave for Switzerland on Friday for two weeks.  It's a work trip and I'm generally a dork, so stay tuned for good stories of Murl abroad.

 

I'm sure 4-6 weeks at home will be good fodder for this blog thing that I've all but abandoned.

 

I also have ripped out basement pictures to show you...ooh are you all tingly????